Insanity
by hannah-jennifer
Summary: AU psychologist!Doctor, patient!Clara / "They think I'm crazy, don't they?" "Clar-" "Don't lie to me, Doctor." "Yes, they do." "Where am I going?" "To an institution." (was "Doctor, Who am I")
1. Chapter 1

"Explain to me a thing," the Doctor requested, peering up from his papers to focus on the couple in front of him.

His eyes landed on the woman first, in time to catch her annoyed eye roll as she crossed her arms over her chest. Quirking an eyebrow, or lack of, the Doctor took note of her defensive stance and the way she leant back, pushing her shoulders into the padded booth as if trying to get away from him. Her hair fell in front of her pale face and obscured some of it from view.

The woman's husband (or ex-husband, he supposes. It was messy), had his hands clasped together on the table. The Doctor was well aware of the difference in personalities the couple had and was slightly relieved that the man was more submissive and open to discuss everything, even if his hands proved that he still had his defenses up.

"How is it that we don't talk for a month, and then you call us to meet so you can tell me that you're getting a divorce? Now, well I am aware of what can happen in a month's time, I doubt Rory would attempt to sleep with another woman. And Amy," the Doctor shrugged his shoulders at his friends, "Well, she wouldn't leave you out of it."

"Doctor," Amy snapped, lunging slightly at the table. The Doctor jumped back, still taken by surprise at Scott's sudden outburst.

"What happened?" the Doctor interrupted. He watched the duo with pleading eyes, begging for some kind of answer.

The Doctor had been friends with the Ponds for years, and had been together since before he had even met them. Amy and Rory had grown up together in Leadworth, while the Doctor was raised in Northampton.

He was a smart youth, excelling in his classes at Northampton School for Boys, as well as a talented boy. He played football in youth teams for Northampton Town, Nottingham Forest, as well as Leicester City. At nineteen, the Doctor was an aspiring football player who had gotten a scholarship with De Montfort University. During one of the games, however, a member of the opposing team had shoved him roughly from the ball and into his teammate, Craig. After a lot of whistle blowing and yelling, silence fell over the crowd and Craig was pulled off the Doctor. The couches, referees, as well as his teammates crowded around, whispering and murmuring about what had just occurred. Worried glances were exchanged as the head coach knelt next to the Doctor. The Doctor had only been able to groan in pain as his coach requested that someone call an ambulance.

When he came to, the Doctor found himself in the hospital. Bright lights assaulted him as he tried to open his eyes. Squinting, he peered around the room to find his mother and sister standing to his left, while Craig loomed over his right. His mother called in his doctor, who proceeded to explain that the shove had made his head snap back, giving him what appeared to be whiplash. The force of which he was forced in to Craig, who had gotten a minor concussion, caused the larger man to fall on top of the Doctor. The Doctor's arm had been caught at a bad angle and fractured.

A few weeks later, the Doctor returned to the hospital, complaining he felt an electric shock every time he moved his neck. A Spurling's test was performed, as well as others. The Doctor waited patiently in the waiting room, fidgeting in his seat. He had the majority of the world zoned out until he heard a shrill scream. Multiple crashing and banging was heard over the squeaking of sneakers on the freshly waxed floor of what he believed to be the side entrance. The Doctor halted his movements and glued his eyes to the scene unfolding in front of him.

A blur of bright red hair was followed by two nurses who held onto the arms of whomever they were restraining. The receptionist jumped up from behind the desk and beckoned another nurse to get a stretcher. She then went back behind the desk and picked up the phone and paged who he guessed was either security or a doctor. It turned out to be both, he confirmed, when two men, one in a security uniform, the other in a long white lab coat, came bustling down the hall. The approached the stretcher, which the Doctor could then see held the ginger woman, who continued to struggle as the restrained her. The doctor pulled out a syringe and injected the woman with it, and in moments she had calmed down. As they wheeled her away, the Doctor could make out the nurses and doctor informing her of who they were and what their intentions were.

"Mr. Smith?"

The Doctor looked up to see Doctor Swann, his doctor, sit down next to him. Doctor Swann gave him a look of regret as he pulled out some x-rays of the Doctor's neck, as well as some other papers. The hour following had been a blur, but the Doctor had picked out enough to get the gist of it. Doctor Swann explained to him what Spondylosis was, and that it could be helped with physiotherapy, or chiropractic manipulative therapy if he preferred, and that he'd be prescribed with nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs. As it turned out, it was a degenerative osteoarthritis in between the vertebrae, and the impact of the accident on the field brought it out. While it was manageable, it was also the end of the Doctor's career in football.

After, the Doctor had wandered for a while. He made his way through the endless corridors of the hospital, passing by numerous patients and family and friends. On the fourth floor, the Doctor turned the corner and almost got trampled. He grabbed on to their shoulders and held them at arm's length. He immediately recognized her as the ginger from earlier, who had been strapped to the stretcher. Upon further inspection, he noticed that she was almost as tall as him, and her wide eyes stood out against her pale flesh, which was even whiter under the harsh glow of the lights.

"Hello," he smiled, hoping to not scare her.

He apparently didn't, because she giggled and murmured _"Raggedy man," _with a strong Scottish twang. He quickly turned her around and gently began pushing her in the direction he suspected she came from. She continued to giggle and he figured she was still under the influence of whatever drug they had injected her with. Her converse squeaked harshly against the tiles and her ginger mane kept hitting him in the face as he tried to maneuver her.

"Amy?"

The Doctor whipped his head around until his gaze landed on a young man, who looked to around the Doctor's age, if not early twenties, who was clad in light blue scrubs with a gray jumper hazardously hanging off his shoulders. His brown hair was shaggy and unkept, whatever gel had kept it quiffed hours before had since left, leaving it lying flat against his forehead. His eyes were large with shock and relief, or so the Doctor believed as the man approached.

The girl, or Amy, recognized him immediately. Stumbling from the Doctor's grasp, she threw herself into the man's arms. He wrapped them around her, holding her tight. One hand was smoothing down her hair while the other was rubbing circles on the small of her back.

"Rory," she sighed and held him tighter. The Doctor could hear a faint, "I'm not crazy," chanted repeatedly into _Rory's _sweater until he shushed her and assured that he knew and would get to the bottom of it.

"Where'd you find her?" Rory asked, finally making eye contact with the Doctor. As soon as he spoke, the Doctor knew he wasn't from Northampton.

"Down the hall, wandering," the Doctor informed. "I haven't seen you guys around here, before? Are you new?"

Rory visibly tensed and the Doctor immediately regretted it. He awkwardly shuffled his feet and was about to tell Rory to drop it before he spoke.

"She's here for treatment," and with that, Rory ushered Amy back to her room.

Later, Rory had gone to apologize to the Doctor, which the Doctor accepted right away as he realized that Rory was just stressed and protective. He had been allowed to visit Amy, and the two had hit it off quickly. Rory had taken some time to warm up, but Amy had promised the Doctor that it wasn't personal, and that Rory was usually really easy going.

Amy had moved from Scotland when she was ten, after her parents died, and had an imaginary friend she used as a mechanism to cope with the loss. Rory had been the only one willing to be her friend because the other children had thought she was crazy and bullied her. That was until she got older and boys began taking an interest in her, but she assured Rory that it was him she wanted, and they had been together since.

As it turned out, three months prior to coming to Northampton, Amy had been diagnosed with Schizophreniform disorder, which was a lot like Schizophrenia, but only lasted one to six months. She and Rory were planning on coming to Northampton a week later, but Amy was moved from the hospital earlier than expected. She barely had enough time to call Rory, and he had to drive up from Leadworth, which took almost 3 hours in itself.

Amy had stayed for treatment for another month until the doctors were positive the Schizophreniform was over. She and Rory had gone back, claiming they needed to tie up some "loose ends". In the time they were gone, the Doctor took the opportunity to change courses and go back to school to get the degrees needed to become a Psychologist. The school had been wary, but he was academically sound and had the capabilities to do so.

The Doctor had kept ties with Amy and Rory, as Amy had to go back to the hospital for checkups. Months after finishing school, the Doctor moved to Chiswick to be closer to the couple, who had resigned there shortly after marriage. The Doctor, being a now registered psychologist, worked in the hospital with Rory, who was a nurse. The Doctor worked as a counselling psychologist, helped people of all ages, and was always up for a challenge.

The Doctor lived alone in a small house just a block away from the Ponds, and was still close to the hospital. He made friends easily, even being the awkward, bumbling giraffe he is. But on his days off, he still resorted to working around his house, researching, or even just having tea on his deck with the company of the neighborhood stray, an old orange and white cat, lovingly named Henry by an elderly lady up the street.

And while the Doctor never minded solitude (in fact, he preferred it so he could think), he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy towards his best friends, whose relationship was playful, loving, and faithful.

Well, mostly.

"Nothing happened, Doctor," Rory insisted that night, taking a sip of his tea.

"I still don't understand." The Doctor set his mug down and then reached up to retrieve a pack of Jammie Dodgers from the cupboard. He tore open the package and dumped the cookies on a plate before snatching on off and taking a bite. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, an idea popping into his head. "Rory, before she confronted you, how was she acting? What was her body language?"

Rory sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Really, Doctor? You're going to use your therapy skills on me?"

The Doctor shrugged, "Couldn't hurt to try."

Rory closed his eyes, remembering his conversation with his wife a few days before. "She was really cautious when she approached me. Kept her hands in her pockets, kick her feet against the floor. Right after she told me she wanted a divorce, she flinched as if she was expecting me to yell or something. And she of all people is well aware of the fact that I don't really yell unless I'm excited or something."

"Did you ask why she wanted a divorce?"

"Of course I did. She just said she wasn't feeling it anymore. And I don't think that's it, because a few days before, she _was feeling it._" Rory's mouth twisted in what could have been a smirk if his face was drowned in sorrow.

"What about her hands? Any gestures?" the Doctor persisted. His tea sat forgotten beside him as he reached for another biscuit.

"She kept touching her nose, not like an itch, but just around the center of her face."

"People do that when they lie," the Doctor stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm well aware that she was lying, Doctor. I just don't get why," he explained, dropping his now empty mug into the sink. The Doctor followed suit as Rory disappeared down the hallway. He found Rory in the guest room, pulling out clothes from his suitcase for the next day.

"You know you can stay for as long as you need, right?" the Doctor asked.

Rory nodded, keeping himself busy. "I don't want to impose myself on you or anything, I'll get out of your hair as soon as I can."

The Doctor sighed, "You two will make up soon, and I know you will."

Rory finally looked up at him. "Thanks again, for letting me stay. I don't know how to repay you."

"You can start by driving me to work tomorrow?" the Doctor raised an eye brow in suggestion.

Rory chuckled, "What happened to the TARDIS?"

"Giving the old girl a rest," the Doctor explained, smiling fondly at the thought of his car.

"Did she break?"

"Uh, _no. _She would never _break. _She always come through." The Doctor sassed.

"Then what happened?"

The Doctor stepped out of the guest room and paused before answering, "I just think it'd be nice to give her a rest. Which I will also give myself. Night Rory."

The Doctor was surprised to find Rory peering inside the TARDIS when he locked his door the next morning. He had almost missed it while making his way down the lawn to Rory's car when he noticed the absent driver. He scanned the area to find his friend by the garage, hand through the open window. Annoyed, the Doctor huffed loud enough for Rory to hear.

Rory jumped at the sound, turning awkwardly to face the Doctor. He shuffled down the driveway and unlocked the door before rounding the rear of the car in order to get it. The Doctor did the same and placed his backpack at his feet and reached down to tighten the laces on his boots.

The ride to the hospital was relatively silent, except for the radio. Traffic was light in the early morning so it didn't take long to arrive. Rory stopped briefly while they were getting out of the car and gave the Doctor a skeptical look.

"There's a cat in the TARDIS."

The Doctor didn't even glance up, instead tucking a paper in his breast pocket and swinging his bag over his shoulder. "You don't understand, Rory."

"Then explain it to me, Doctor."

The Doctor briskly passed him, giving him a "Come along, Pond," rather than an explanation.

Scribbling another signature onto the form, the Doctor sighed in boredom at how long his day felt. It was only ten in the morning, and he and Rory had been at the hospital since 6 and the day just dragged on and on. The few patients who were awake during his last round were polite and cheerful, but still didn't show signs of improvement and coping for their mental illness. The lights were flickering when he went up at 9:30, and when he calmed the few who were panicking, he found 11 year old Emma Yates who had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder flicking them on and off in the midst of a compulsion.

He had to do a write up about it in order to keep track, and made sure to stress the importance of her "compulsion blocker" which he made her doing in order to get it to stop. He hoped that when she went home her parents would actually take the time to help Emma, rather than leaving her in the care of the hospital when they believed it was too much for them to handle.

"Doctor?" accompanied by a tap on his shoulder caught his attention. Rose Tyler, who worked in the Pediatric department, was at his side. Her large eyes were wide and urgent and her blonde hair was falling out of the ponytail it was in. He noticed the blood on her lab coat and turned to face her fully and he quickly realized it wasn't her blood.

He followed Rose back to the petite woman, who wore a short red dress darkened in blood. Her hands were shaking and pulling at her brunette locks, and she kept smearing the crimson carnage on her flushed cheeks. She had drops splattered over her collarbone, evident in the off-shoulder dress.

"I don't know where I am, I don't know where I am," she kept repeating, her strong northern accent on faltering every few words. The Doctor gently placed a hand on her bare shoulder and led her to an empty stretcher. She continued her chant, becoming frantic as she began scratching at her arms. He and Rose pushed the stretcher into an empty room that Rose had requested while he was taking the woman to the stretcher.

"Hey, hey there," he breathed, putting both hands on her shoulder and getting her to focus on him. He stared into her dark brown eyes as tears began to pool at the edges.

"I don't- I don't know where I am. Where am I?" she sniffled. Her bottom lip quivered in an effort to stop the tears.

"You're at Queen Charlotte's and Chelsea's Hospital. I'm Doctor John Smith. What's your name, love?" The Doctor asked, desperate to get some kind of answers.

"Oswin Oswald," she cried. Tears fell from her eyes and made trails in the blood on her cheeks, which the Doctor wiped away.

"Okay, Oswin, I'm going to need you to lie down so I can figure out where the blood is coming from," he explained. She looked confused for a moment before looking down. The Doctor watched in slight shock as her eyes rolled back at the sight of the blood, before he braced her while he laid her down, unconscious.


	2. Chapter 2

**Quick thank you to the lovelies who reviewed/followed/favourited. To the anonymous review asking if this was going to be a Doctor/Clara story, it will be. A bit angsty, and possibly upsetting (for me at least), but a couple whouffle cuddles is needed until the 50****th****. **

**I don't really have a whole lot to say, besides thanks, and a quick apology for not updating, as I'm pretty lazy and new school and stuff.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

"Oswin, can you hear me? Oswin?" the Doctor begged his unconscious patient as he pressed two fingers to feel her pulse. He sighed in relief at her beating heart, even though it was pounding a bit too rapidly for his liking. He hovered his cheek above her mouth, watching as her chest stuttered with each choked breath he could hear.

He tilted her head back and opened her mouth a bit further in hopes to make her breathing easier. Cradling the back of her skull in one hand, the Doctor reached up and pulled and oxygen mask from the shelf with the other. He secured it over and mouth and nose, and gently brushed some hair from her face.

She looked absolutely fragile, and he wanted to do something, but he wasn't able to do much else, besides make sure she was still breathing, until Doctor Jones arrived. And after that, there wasn't anything the Doctor could do for her.

Sighing, he bent over to get a better look at her. Crimson liquid stained her cheeks, as well as her mouth and chin. Her hair was matted and stuck to her forehead, which held a light coating of sweat. His eyes traveled down her neck, also splattered with blood, and noticed a bruise forming from under the neckline of her dress. It painted her collarbone a sickly blue and black colour and reached towards her shoulders.

Doctor Martha Jones hustled through the door and into the small room, followed by two nurses. The Doctor backed away to allow her some room to examine the small girl, whose breathing quickly became choked as she lurched up and coughs racked her body. The Doctor already had a hand bracing her back, and rubbed circles between her shoulder blades. Martha's eyes met his briefly, panicked as well as confused. Her patient pulled off the oxygen mask before Martha had a chance to grab it, and tried to sturdy to girl so she wouldn't fall.

One particular cough had Dr. Jones freezing momentarily in surprise and she had to close her eyes to avoid getting blood in them. She ignored the stains on her lab coat and grabbed hold of her plastic tub one of the nurses handed her.

"Her names is Oswin," the Doctor explained, still rubbing her back and holding her hair as she sputtered into the bowl Dr. Jones was holding. "She came in not long ago, she was hysterical and said that she didn't know where she was."

"Shock? Amnesia?" Martha offered. "Could be either or, she's obviously been through some trauma. But I won't know more until I can get a look."

The Doctor nodded, shuffling closer to the bed in order to allow the nurses to elevate so that it sat in more of an obtuse angle, rather than flat. He allowed Oswin to lean back and made his way over to the sink. He noticed that his hands were shaking when he went to rip off some paper towel. He prayed for them to stop as he wetted the paper under luke warm water. He wasn't usually involved with trauma cases until after all their physical needs were taken care of.

He made his way back over to the bed and gently wiped at some of the blood on her cheeks. Her eyes were exhausted and barely opened, unfocused. His thumb swept over her eyebrow and her brown eyes rolled to look in his direction.

Martha had begun cutting away at the cotton dress, causing Oswin to shiver at the cold temperature of the room. Pulling the dress away, Martha exhaled heavily. The Doctor knew that she was sighing but in the medical field, they had to be subtle about it in order to not alarm the patient. He averted his eyes from Oswin's and let them land on her chest.

His former suspicions were confirmed by the bruising of her upper chest. Instead of the former blue/black, there was a distinct green/yellow factor to it, as well as a few minor cuts. The entire area was swollen and the cuts were still relatively fresh, so he had to assume they were deeper than appeared, or the whole ordeal happened in recent hours.

Martha's hand replaced the Doctor's on Oswin's face so that the young woman would focus on her.

"Oswin," she began gently, "We're going to keep you on the oxygen mask until we get a clear picture of what's going on inside your body, okay?" Oswin nodded and winced at the movement. She remained still as Martha put the mask back on. "We're going to take some blood for some tests, as well as take an x-ray. These nurses here are going to take you to your own room and get your some pain killers, how does that sound?"

The Doctor could have sworn he seen a small smile on Oswin's face that mirrored Martha's. The nurse began wheeling the stretcher out of the room and through the hall.

"What do you think it is?" the Doctor asked.

"I don't really have enough information to make a diagnosis just yet. But by the looks of the bruising, it's definitely trauma. I don't know exactly what caused it, but there may be some breaks or fractures. Punctured lungs, causing the blood. But by the looks of it," she gave the Doctor a solemn look, "it wasn't an accident. It took a lot of force and hit such a precise area. She was beat."

* * *

Hours later, the Doctor had finished having lunch with Rory and had begun making his way to his patients. He had a session with a young boy who suffered from Vascular Dementia after having a stroke. The boy, as well as his family, was having trouble coping to the disease and had sessions with the Doctor to help work on the skills the boy would need in order to live normally.

"Doctor Smith?"

His whipped his head around at the sound of his name, which came from the secretary at the front desk. He gave a cheery smile and spun his long limbs comically in order to turn himself around. The secretary, a young blonde named Trish, giggled at his antics. He tried to appear casual as he leant on the desk surface, but ended up slipping a few inches to the left despite himself.

"Dr. Jones asked me to find some information on Miss Oswald, so here ya go," Trish informed, handing the Doctor a folder full of paper.

"Oswald isn't my patient," he pondered, fingering the corner of the folder.

Trish shrugged and began stapling some sheets together. "According to Dr. Jones, she is now. Also, I contacted the family. Dr. Jones already talked to them, but take a look through her folders. The family should still be here, probably in the waiting area. Maybe they can help."

"You, Trish, are a rock star."

She grinned, "I try. Oh, and Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"I put in the phone numbers of her previous doctors and such. I recommend you give them a call."

The Doctor nodded, flipped open the folder, and made his way through the winding halls of the hospital. He read through her basic information, and found that her name was not Oswin, and was in fact Clara. He was confused as to why she would lie about her name. Clara was a nice name; pretty and elegant. French in origin and meant "bright". Although without knowing the girl, the name may have been misleading. He wasn't sure.

She hadn't lied about her last name, though. Only daughter to Dave and Ellie Oswald, born November 23rd, 1989. Next to her mom's name, in brackets, read "deceased".

_Okay, _the Doctor thought, _if it's just her dad left, there's not much family to ask._

He reasoned with himself that there may be a step-mom, or girlfriend. Maybe a step-sister or brother. But in her contact info there was nothing listed, nor was there a next-of-kin. So she wasn't married.

Stepping into the elevator, the Doctor flipped through the rest of her files. She had no records, only basic information, as well as photo ID and a list of names of previous doctors. He recognized one; David MacDonald. He was well known for the major breakthroughs he had with his patients, as well as scientific discoveries of their illnesses and ways to treat them. The Doctor had always been a fan, or since he went to school for psychology. Doctor MacDonald was a well-used example in schooling.

The elevator dinged, signaling someone's destination. The doors open and a familiar nose was the first thing to catch the Doctor's attention. Smiling at his friend, the Doctor side stepped in order to make room in the lift.

"Long time, no see," the Doctor mused, causing Rory to laugh. The two stood side by side, watching the buttons light up on the panel.

"Yeah, well, I would still be hanging out with the coma patients. But Strax has me running errands," Rory explained with an annoyed edge to his voice.

The Doctor nodded in understanding, turning his head so he could look at Rory. "Blimey, that man needs to rethink how he treats people."

"I was checking the stats on a patient and he comes up, 'How's the boy doing?'. The patient was a seventeen year old girl, and her family was sitting right there."

"The man is as simple as he is short. Have a problem? Take it up with Vastra."

Rory swayed his head left to right, as if weighing his options. "She scares me, too."

The Doctor clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Buck up, mate." The elevator stopped and the doors opened. "This is my floor, see you later, Rory."

He missed the small wave Rory had given and began the stroll to his office. Folder at his side, the Doctor focused on the mystery that was Oswald. He refused to call her Clara, because that wasn't how she identified. And he wouldn't call her Oswin because that wasn't who she was. The only name she kept was her last, and that is how she would now be referred to as.

A whirl of black hair to his side stopped him in his tracks.

"Doctor Jones?"

She quickly spun to face him, stethoscope hanging loosely around her neck. She raised her eye brows in sign that she acknowledged him.

"I was about to call Doctor MacDonald about the Oswald girl. And since you have had the most handling of her, as well as speaking to her family, I was wondering if you would care to accompany me."

Her grin widened and she began leading the way to his office. "Would love to."

* * *

The two waited on either side of the Doctor's desk, phone on speaker in the middle, on hold with the receptionist until Dr. MacDonald finished with his client. Martha fiddled with a cup of pens and pencils and the Doctor signed some more papers that he had lying around.

A click was heard from the receiver followed by a thick Scottish accent. "Hello?"

"Doctor MacDonald?" the Doctor asked. Martha rolled her eyes and gave him a look as if to say _Who else would it be? _

"Yes," Dr. MacDonald answered, if not skeptically.

"It's Doctor John Smith-" he jumped when Martha punched him in the shoulder playfully, "-as well as Doctor Martha Jones, _that hurt. _We're with Queen Charlotte and Chelsea's Hospital in Chiswick. We're calling regarding one of your clients."

There was a brief rustle on the other end of the call before, "Client?"

"Clara Oswald," Martha answered before the Doctor could open his mouth.

"Oswald?"

"Clara, yes. It was listed in her file that you were her therapist. She was your client, wasn't she?" the Doctor asked, eyes scanning over Clara's papers again to double check.

"She was, yes. It's just," Dr. MacDonald sighed audibly before finishing, "I haven't heard that name in a while."

"Why not?" the Doctor asked.

"I haven't had a session with her since she was 18 and about to go to college. She was fine, then. Ready to learn. She was dismissed stable," he explained.

"Miss Oswald came into our hospital this morning covered in blood. She has a pulmonary contusion caused by what we believe to be foul play," Martha interjected.

"What I'd really like to know, Dr. MacDonald, was why she was seeing a therapist?" the Doctor asked.

"Clara has Multiple Identity Disorder, Doctor Smith. She's had it since she was a kid, but didn't begin seeing me until she was in her early teens. Four years later, I get a call. She's going to college a couple towns over and wouldn't be able to come in anymore. We had a few meetings after that, she was stable and good to go. I didn't even have to prescribe anything."

"That would explain why she said her name was Oswin," the Doctor concluded.

Doctor MacDonald cursed, "Oswin?"

"That would be one of her personalities, wouldn't it?" Martha asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"How many personalities does she have?" the Doctor questioned.

"When she was seeing me, she only had two. Clara and Oswin. I suppose over the years she could have gotten more. I've only ever had encounters with Oswin," Dr. MacDonald began. "I'll send you her files. Don't let her out until I get down there. Keep her in a controlled environment where you can keep an eye on her, got it?"

"Come down here?"

"I'll drive down this weekend, that's when I have time off. It'll be best if there's someone she knows is there, as well I also know her personalities."

Martha and the Doctor shared a look. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Dr. MacDonald. We have Dr. Smith here, he's a fully capable psychologist."

"It might be helpful, Martha," the Doctor chimed in. "To have someone with experience with Oswald. And Dr. MacDonald is the best of the best."

"I'll drive down Friday, and be at the hospital the next morning. Does that work for you guys?"

"Yes it does. Thank you, doctor," the Doctor finished before hanging up.

Martha squinted her eyes at him and crossed her arms. She didn't move from her chair when the Doctor stood. He paused when he was standing next to her, only for a moment, and then walked out of his office, expecting Martha to follow. She did, seconds later, but had to jog a few steps to catch up.

"You've spoken to the family?"

"Yes," she breathed. "I only explained what trauma she had. Punctured lung, broken ribs. Nothing that can't be healed. She's on a ventilator, for now. She can probably be switched to an oxygen mask tonight, if she's up for it. Should be talking by tomorrow morning."

The Doctor nodded, continuing down the hall. "Was it just her father there?"

Martha shook her head. "Turns out, she's been a nanny for the past two years to a family friend. Her father is on his way, but as of now, it's just the family she's been staying with."

"Do they have any idea what could have happened?"

"They didn't, no. But I asked them to think about it, and if they could remember anyone who would want to hurt Clara, to tell me."

They stopped outside the door, which was cracked open just a bit. They were able to make out a young, curly hair boy and his teenage sister. The father stood over the young boy, a gentle hand placed on his shoulder. The Doctor stood up taller and straightened his bowtie.

"Well," he grinned. "Geronimo."

* * *

Hours later, the Doctor paced his room. His shoulders slumped forward and his hands were clasped behind his back, deep in thought. The family, the Maitland's, were less than helpful. The father had been the only one with any knowledge of Clara's mental illness, and claimed that there had been no incidents. The Doctor believed that the return of Clara's MID had been from the trauma, but he still had no idea of what had happened. He had asked Angie and Artie, the children, if Clara had mentioned fighting with anyone, or if she had any exes. Both had come back a negative, and the whole mystery was keeping the Doctor awake.

Running a hand through his hair, he ran to the kitchen to grab his keys and tweed jacket. Rory was seated at the island, spoonful of oatmeal halfway to his mouth. He didn't question the Doctor, instead offered him an amused facial expression at his friend's antics.

He slammed the back door shut, storming to his car. He unlocked it quickly, and it shook with the force he opened the door with. He stood by the open door and shooed a hissing cat from his car. He jumped in and stuck the keys in the ignition and started the vehicle. He waited until the animal was somewhere in the bushes before driving.

He sang along with whatever trash pop was on the radio, not even bothering to change it. The drive was quicker than normal, mostly due to the fact he was borderline speeding. He stopped in front of a townhouse and pushed open his door.

Running through the gate and up the steps, he began knocking loudly on the door. Lights went on in the neighbor's house, and a moment later, in the house he was currently punching.

The door swung open and he almost his the person behind it.

"What do you want, Doctor?" Amy almost yelled, sounding angrier than she was. Her fiery red hair swung against her back. The Doctor grinned at her spirit.

"Come along, Pond. We're going for a drive."

* * *

The duo lay on a grassy hill just outside the city. The sky was clear, which was only slightly rare, and the stars shown in stark contrast against the night. The Doctor had his hands clasped over his stomach, Amy mirroring him. It was almost tradition for them. If one was having an exceptionally hard time, they would go to this hill at night and think. They would almost always go with the other to keep them company, and offer an ear.

"Look at the moon, Amy. It's full" the Doctor instructed, pointing a finger at the orbiting globe.

"So?" she wondered, eyes flicking from him to the moon.

"It looks like your face."

She slapped his shoulder, with more force than he felt needed, but he blamed that on her Scottish fire.

"What's wrong, raggedy man?"

When he turned his head to the side, he found her already looking at him intently. They studied each other's features momentarily until the Doctor spoke.

"Shouldn't I be asking that?"

Amy visibly tensed and quickly turned her face back to look at the sky. "Some things happen, Doctor. People fall in and out of love all the time. Can't you just accept that?"

The Doctor watched her as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "I have," he admitted. "I have watched many people fall out of love. I have seen people been forced out of love. I have been one."

"Doctor-"

"I've seen so many relationships crumble. Right in front of my eyes and I couldn't help them. But, Amy, you aren't those people. You don't just fall out of love. I've known you for so many years and not once have you ever looked at anyone the way you look at Rory. Even last night, when you guys met up to tell me about it. You still look at him like that. You aren't 'just not feeling it'. What is it, Amy? What do you think you're protecting him from?"

By the time he finished talking, she was facing him again. The corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown and tears were threatening to spill out of her eyes. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and he followed. His eyebrows furrowed while waiting for her next move. She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

Swallowing, she began, "Rory and I have been trying for a baby. And I was so sure this time, I could feel it in my bones. And so we went to the doctors and they told us it was a false positive. So I went back and got them to run some tests and-"

Amy stopped talking as she choked back tears. She fiddled with her hands in her lap as realization dawned on the Doctor.

"You can't have children," he finished. She sadly nodded and gave a watery laugh.

"He's always wanted children and a family. I can't give him that."

"Hey now," the Doctor said, reaching over and grabbing her hands. "If there's one thing Rory wants more than anything, it's you. Whether it's children or a dog or something, he wouldn't have a family without you."

He was kneeling in front of her now, eyes boring into hers.

"How can you be okay?" she whispered.

He quickly pulled her into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "I'm always okay, I'm the king of okay."

Minutes later, when she pulled back, she gently patted him on the shoulder. "Sometimes I do worry about you, though. I think once we're gone you won't be coming back here for a while. And you might be alone. Which you should never be. Don't be alone, Doctor."

* * *

**I have no idea where I thought this chapter was going to end. Probably with some whouffle, but I think you can e****xpect that with chapter 3. The whole thing with Amy and Rory's divorce is taken out of Asylum of the Daleks, so I wanted to keep the reason the same as well. **

**Next chapter we'll find out more about Clara**


	3. Chapter 3

If there's one thing the Doctor never seems to lack, its energy.

Even on the most tiring days, when he should be drained completely of life, he still manages to trudge on without complaint. He found that it came in handy with being a doctor and all. As a teenager, he was always up for a game of football with his mates, even if he had just finished a mountain of homework moments before. As an adult he was still completely capable of waking at the crack of dawn to help out at Queen Charlotte and Chelsea even if it was for the smallest incident.

But for the first time, the Doctor was tired.

Not physically, of course. He could still run around need be. In fact, if it weren't for the slump of his shoulders and crooked bowtie, it was doubtful anyone would notice his emotional exhaustion.

He had taken an extra hot shower when he had returned home the night prior. Too hot, it seemed, as his skin remained red hours after. It wasn't only the Amy/Rory debacle, but now he had more of his past on his mind. Professor River Song had snuck her way back into his head after months. He only hoped Amy and Rory would take the chance at love that they were given and didn't waste it, like he did.

He had changed his focus to that of Clara Oswald in hopes of figuring her out. He had reread his psychology books and any mention of Dissociative Identity Disorder was highlighted and bookmarked and then read again over breakfast. He hadn't dealt with it in years, and rarely in general. His main job at the hospital was to assist the other doctors with patients who had psychological disorders. 'His' patients were in the hospital because they were in need of other medical assistance.

* * *

He met Martha for coffee that morning in hopes that she had any luck with Clara's history.

"Her dad came around last night. It was after visiting hours, but I let him see her." Martha reported, taking a bite of her biscuit. "He said that there wouldn't be anyone that would want to hurt her and that she's a genuine person. Smart, funny, pretty. What words any father would use to describe his daughter."

"So all we have is a drugged patient and a possible attacker on the loose?" he inquired, annoyed.

Martha nodded solemnly, "Looks like it. Luckily, she'll be between doses this afternoon so I can properly check her injuries. Maybe you can talk to her then."

"Sounds like a plan. Do you think I could get some one-on-one time with her between then and when Dr. MacDonald arrives?"

Martha set her tea down and thought for a moment, mouth pursed. She drummed her fingers on the outside of her mug and inhaled some of the steam rising from it. "It's definitely a possibility, but I wouldn't get my hopes up just yet. I still have to do the physical exam."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows along with his cup, "Then let's hope she's up for it."

That's how he found himself, hours later, standing impatiently outside Miss Oswald's private room whilst Martha was buzzing around checking the monitors. Clara was awake at that point and answering Martha's questions about her physical condition. Their conversation was difficult to hear, so he had to strain himself trying to listen. Her voice sounded rougher than when she had first stumbled into the hospital, but more so at ease.

He tried ignoring the nagging feeling that something was slightly off about the whole situation. It may have been due to the simple fact Martha's demeanor had changed when she checked to make sure the IV drip was securely in Clara's vein (not that he had been peaking into the room or anything) or maybe it was that Dave Oswald was pacing through the hallways, trying to busy himself.

Dave hadn't said anything to the Doctor, only gave him troubled glances. The Doctor felt troubled under the stare of the older man, but didn't say anything. Dave was shorter than the Doctor, with brown hair feathered gray with age, a gentle yet stern face, and an overly fatherly aura. There was no doubt in his mind that Dave was Clara's main support but he still wondered if Clara had been closer with her mother beforehand.

The door creaked and Martha entered the hallway with a sigh, clipboard held tightly to her chest. She had a frown etched on her young face and her eyes sought out his right away.

"Something's telling me everything went downhill long before this incident," she whispered. She pushed the door open more with her hand. "See for yourself."

The Doctor took the clipboard from Martha and took quiet steps into the enclosed area. Clara was relaxing, or so he thought. Her dark brown hair was fanned out on the plastic pillow behind her and gauze wrapped around her forehead. The bruising was still highly evident in an ugly green shade protruding from under her gown. The purple hues were a stark contrast to her pale flesh and made her collarbone appear a painful spear stabbing into her skin. Her arms rested gingerly on her stomach and the Doctor took note of her blood-caked fingernails.

"So," he began, glancing between the woman and his papers. "How are you feeling today, Miss Oswald?" A small grin pulled at her cracked lips and he briefly wondered if she had a change in personality he didn't witness. He wasn't sure who he was talking to.

"Better. Still sore, but Dr. Jones said that will get better because I'm just in between dosages," she croaked. Her brown eyes were soft and sleepy and her cheeks were flushed.

The Doctor pulled a chair next to her bed and plopped himself down. He leant forward so he was closer to her, clipboard propped on his knee. He gave a gentle smile in hopes of calming her as he didn't want his presence to be one of hostility. He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and fiddled momentarily with his bowtie.

"Hi," he breathed, reaching out a hand. "I'm John Smith, but my friends call me the Doctor."

She graciously accepted his outstretched hand and he tried to ignore the faded white lines on her arm. He made an attempt to not show his shock, even if it was something he often came into contact with. But when he glanced back up, she was watching him intently. The Doctor coughed to break the tension and dropped her hand.

"I'll be your doctor while you're here, and I usually like to start off with getting to know my patients. Which means, if you want, you can tell me about yourself. Anything, really. Random facts or things you like to do. Or if you don't feel like talking, I can always tell you about myself," he proposed.

She remained silent for a moment, fiddling with her IV. She brought her arms back and attempted to push herself into a sitting position before the Doctor lightly grasped her shoulders and forced her back. His lips tugged up at the edges and he reached down with his free hand to press a button on the bed. With a whirring noise, the bed moved into an obtuse angle, allowing her to comfortably sit up.

"Dr. Jones-" she started, interrupted by a fit of coughing. Her frail hand grasped at the throat and her shoulders shook with force. The Doctor rose quickly and snatched the cup of water off of the bedside table and quickly lifted it to her lips. Oswald took a tentative sip, relaxed, and took another.

"You okay?" the Doctor asked, eyebrows raised and chin tucked.

She nodded and cleared her throat. "Dr. Jones is my doctor."

"I'm a different kind of doctor. There is more than one profession and specialties for doctors," he argued.

"Then what kind are you?" she shot back accusingly. Or with as much force as she could manage without having breathing difficulties.

"I'm a counseling psychologist."

She snapped her mouth shut.

The Doctor noticed her become tense. "Okay then, that was a bad start," he muttered to himself. "How about I tell you about myself and then you tell me whatever you feel is necessary for our doctor/patient relationship to work. We can build on it later, but my main concern is that you get better."

She nodded in understanding and dropped her head slightly. The Doctor reached out again and put his hand over hers and gave a light squeeze to show sincerity. He waited until her eyes met his and noticed her eyes were glossed over. She gave a small sniffle and nodded.

"Okay then," he grinned. "Like a said earlier, I'm John Smith. I grew up in Northampton, dreamed of being a pro footballer. In fact, I even went to university for it. Unfortunately, accidents happen and here I am. I got injured badly and my back got messed up and I'm physically unable to play professionally so instead I took a career in psychology."

"Why psychology?" she wondered.

The Doctor gave a sad smile. "I met my best friend at the hospital where I was staying for my injury. She was there for treatment regarding a mental disorder and I helped her find her boyfriend. After, when I got to sit down and talk to her, I realized how remarkable of a person she is. Great ambitions, fiery nature. I realized, then, that I didn't want anyone's psychological state get in the way of their lives."

Clara looked down and then peered at the Doctor from under thick lashes. "That's a nice story, really."

They locked gazes for a moment, her dark eyes boring into his hazel ones until her eyes moved lower and back to his. It was an intense few seconds, and before the Doctor could say anything, Clara spoke up.

"What's with the bowtie?" she laughed.

The Doctor sat up straight, hands going immediately to the magenta fabric around his throat. "Oi," he barked, "bowties are cool."

His eyes softened when Clara's dimples came into view, along with her white teeth. Her laugh, while bruised and battered, was so refreshing, he found himself laughing along with her. He stopped, though, when she began coughing again. He held the cup of water to her lips, his other hand cradling the back of her head. His thumb stroked her jaw and he watched her take careful slurps. He was careful to be as gentle as possible with her, as her Bambi eyes led him to believe she had a heavier flight instinct.

"What happens after Dr. Jones tells me I'm good to go?" she asked once the cup was placed back on the table. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand that lacked a catheter and licked her lips.

The Doctor, distracted, took a moment too long to answer. He was met with a smirk and cocked eyebrow, which he decided to ignore. "Well, since Dr. Jones and I are both your doctors, I'd have to clear you as well. For now, you stay here until you're physically sound. Since you have experienced trauma, it'll also depend on your mental wellness. Now, we could set you up in another private room in my ward. You're down here mainly for Dr. Jones' access to you. Once you're more stable you'll become moreso my patient."

"I'm not property, Doctor." Clara barked.

The Doctor raised his hands in surrender. "Didn't mean to make it sound that way. I'm just saying that you'll be seeing a lot more of me, so you better get used to it." He stood up and walked over to a small desk that would eventually hold Clara's belongings. He placed his clipboard down upon it and began reading over her charts.

A knock on the door caught his attention and when he looked up, he was surprised to see Rory leaning awkwardly into the room. The Doctor offered his friend a smile, and took note of his eyes flicking from Clara's direction and back to the floor, as if he was burning under her bored gaze.

"Doctor, thought I might find you here," he announced. He beckoned the Doctor to come closer, which he did quickly. Rory shoved a ring of keys into the Doctor's hand, to which the Doctor appeared confused. "I dropped you off at the coffee shop this morning so I thought you might need a ride home, since the TARDIS is out of commission or something."

"Rory," the Doctor paused, eyeing his friend and the keys, "How do you expect to get back to my place if I take your car?"

A grin crept onto the shorter man's face, "I called Amy earlier and she agreed to talk. She's going to pick me up, so the car is yours to use."

The Doctor smiled widely, a chuckle slipping passed his lips as he clapped a hand on Rory's shoulder. "Good for you, mate. Good for you. Let me know how it goes, alright?"

Rory nodded and strolled off clumsily, lost in his own world.

When the Doctor reentered Clara's room, her lips were pursed and brow cocked, judgingly. It made him a bit uncomfortable, and it showed in his posture straightening.

"What?" he questioned.

She laughed. "Please tell me you're not one of those blokes who name their cars, are you?"

He looked offended. "I'll have you know, the TARDIS is a very sensitive creature. She only lets certain people drive her."

"Even worse," she deadpanned.

"Excuse me?"

"You're car is like your mother, you won't date a girl who it doesn't like," she explained, relaxing into her bed.

The Doctor stalked over to the desk to retrieve the files. "My mother," he muttered bitterly. "My TARDIS is _nothing _like my mother. My TARDIS is sexy."

"Keep talking like that and I'm not the only one that should be up in the psych ward," she jabbed.

He almost dropped the contents in his hand at what she said. "You should _never _joke about that," he reprimanded.

"Oi, mister grumpy," she mocked.

The Doctor turned to her, all joking lost with him. There was a difference in her demeanor; she appeared more confident, a little saucier. "Clara," he began.

"Nope," she cut off with a little head bob, "My name's Oswin."

His jaw dropped in utter shock.

"Careful with that chin, dear, you could poke someone's eye out."

* * *

***Apocalyptic camera zoom* Hello there, my lovelies! I know I haven't updated in a while, and I've been trying for a while to get this chapter up. But with highschool I have a lot of homework (which is gross) and my own mental state is flushed down the toilet. On the bright side, I got a job baking and got accepted into the police youth program that I applied for a year ago.**

**Anyways, I'll try to update sooner this time. Oh, and you all have cute butts.**


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